


The Kiss of Life

by igotanobsession



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon Compliant, Complete, F/M, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:44:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igotanobsession/pseuds/igotanobsession
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-ADwD. Brienne is determined to save Podrick Payne and Hyle Hunt from Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood without Banners, without fulfilling her 'promise' to bring Jaime back to kill him in exchange. Without allies, Jaime's sword hand, or even a plan, this proves to be a difficult task. Smut-fluff, particularly near the end. Watch out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic draws from both ASOIAF and GoT. I’m starting from where GRRM last left us with Jaime and Brienne in the books, but am also trying to add in some of the personality that has been given them in the show. This is my first fanfic in ages, but I’ve already written the smutty scene at the end (chapter 5), and it’s... pretty smutty. Can’t wait to fill in the other three chapters in-between! It’s kind of a slow-start. I hope it’s not too angsty.

Thoros touched the wineskin to his mouth. His body ached in the dankness of the cold wet cave, making him feel older than ever in these past months. The Brotherhood Without Banners was fractured. He could not tell when it broke, as he had confessed to the traitor Brienne of Tarth, some days earlier. Was it when Beric Dondarrion gave the kiss of life to the creature now calling herself Lady Stoneheart? Was it before, when the Brotherhood claimed to serve justice in the name of the Lord of Light? _Have I done something wrong, that the Lord of Light abandoned me with this group of lost men led by a dark spirited corpse?_

He took another swig of wine from the skin, and rolled his head over toward the only source of heat in the cave, the bonfire, which was perpetually lit in honor of the Lord of Light. Thoros laughed at that—honor—enough that he almost snorted wine up his nose. And then... he saw something. In the flames. There was a hint of an image, but what, he could not tell. _Is it? Is the Lord of Light speaking again?_ A figure formed... the figure of the Lady Stoneheart clasping at her neck with one hand, pointing with the other. In the direction of her hand, there was a woman, taller than most men, and a man without a hand. Then... he saw himself.

 _No, it cannot be. Is this the Lord of Light’s future for us?_ He closed his eyes, and wondered when Brienne of Tarth would arrive with Jaime Lannister, bringing with them a change in his fate.

  


  
##

  


Brienne and Jaime rode abreast of one another, but she never looked at him. She kept her eyes on the road ahead. They were almost there. It was their second day of travel, but only hours since she confessed to him the truth about who truly awaited them at the end of their journey. In their hours on the road, her aching body spoke loudly, but the two of them had remained as silent as the death which surely awaited them at the undead hands of Lady Stoneheart. Brienne was sure that she was damning Jaime to death, and regretted lying to him all the more for it. If there had been any other way... But, no. And, there was a chance that they would make it out alive. She had to believe that they would live, or that at least young Podrick Payne might be spared, or else she never would have said the word that got her out of the hangman’s noose. _But if I do live, Ser Jaime will never trust me again. But, why does that matter? Have I not always been cursed to be alone?_

“Wench,” he said, breaking the long silence and startling her half to death, “I suppose that you have some sort of plan as to how we will defeat this she-monster who you claim to be Catelyn Stark risen from the grave?”

Brienne snuck a glance at him. His voice seemed casually snarky, as it used to, but his face said something else entirely. Jaime Lannister was worried. She shook her head.

“She is Catelyn Stark. Or, she was,” Brienne spat out with annoyance which quickly melted into shame at having tricked him into facing her, “As for the plan, I... confess that I had not thought that far ahead. I am not particularly strategic, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime let out a bark of a laugh, “Remember that I didn’t say it first, wench.”

Brienne felt her neck prickle at that, and sent a glare his way. Sighing, she rolled her eyes away.

“Jaime, I knew that I had to have you with me to bring to Lady Stoneheart, or else I wouldn’t be able to get Podrick and Ser Hunt out of the hangman’s noose. Beyond that...”

“How far are we from this cave, Brienne?”

“Perhaps an hour’s ride?”

Jaime reined his horse, and hard. Brienne turned and stopped, in time to see him walk his horse off of the road, into the thicket of trees. _Seven Hells_ , she thought. _This cannot be the time for whatever it is that he is doing._

She jumped off of her own horse and followed him. When she landed on the ground, it seemed as though all of her joints ached. _Am I not too young to feel so old?_ “Jaime!” she hissed between her teeth. Gods, where is he? He was just... “Ser Jaime?” She saw his horse tied to a tree, nearby, but where was he? _Gods, I feel faint. Perhaps the lack of sleep is defeating me._

“Brienne,” he said from behind her. She turned and saw him still lacing his pants. She frowned. “Oh, come now—you act as though you haven’t seen my naked body before. A man’s got to take a piss. Beside which, I do my best strategizing when I use the privy.”

“We don’t have time for jokes.”

“That’s just it—we don’t have time. Your plan consists of throwing the two of us into a cave with an unknown number of well-armed hedge knights—you’d do that at this instant if you could. That would be fine, except that one of us is a cripple recovering from a year of confinement, and the other is injured and weak, and supposedly was suffering from a delirium-inducing fever only two days previous. There is no time to gather strength, or formulate a better approach—one which might actually work. Do you think that your two precious friends will live if we simply knock on the cave door?”

“Perhaps! Do we have a choice?”

Jaime’s jesting had come to an end. Brienne saw that his face had become withdrawn. She was reminded that she was putting both of their lives at risk. Brienne of Tarth knew that better than anyone, yet for the short time of his light hearted joking, she had forgotten.

“There is always a choice, Brienne. At least, let us stay in an inn for the night. You are our only hope for surviving this. We must get you rested, or else none of us will make it through this.”

“But, the Lady Stoneheart,” she protested, “she insisted that I bring you right away.”  
“This ‘lady’ has no choice but to wait for you in order to see me dead. Surely it is plausible that it would take you one more day to procure me.”

Jaime walked up close to her, and put a hand on her forehead. Brienne’s skin prickled with gooseflesh at his touch. He seemed as cold as ice, colder than that, even! Brienne flushed after a he held his hand there for too long a  moment, however he did not seem to notice or care about her embarrassment. Jaime frowned.

“We must find a resting place soon,” he said with a growl, “as your fever is still upon you. I must see to that wound on your face. I only hope that there is an innkeep who won’t betray our identities.”

Brienne suddenly was reminded of all of the pain that she kept suppressed, and it was not just her joints that ached. Her muscles all the way to her sinews ached. Her cheek, which had been so cruelly ripped apart by Biter throbbed. Her heart, which had gone through so much twisting and confusion, was more sore than all of those things put together.

“I don’t think that we can stay at an inn, here, Jaime. They think I’m... The people of this area do not have room in their hearts for any of our ‘truths.’”

“And there is no way that we could be mistaken for being anyone other than ourselves,” he said, his voice glum. Jaime walked back to his horse and untied her. “We will simply have to make camp as best we can. It’ll be like the old days, eh, Wench?”

The rock ledge that they selected for their shelter was less than ideal, but it was near fresh water and far enough from the domain of the Brotherhood that they could light a fire and get some rest. When they tied up the horses, Brienne felt her weariness settle upon her like a great weight. Jaime seemed stronger than her, focused, which seemed an odd reversal to what she previously knew. He set up camp around her as she slowly built the fire from the wood he scavenged for her. It was as though time was slowing down. _Am I still seeing things?_ Jaime placed a blanket about her shoulders, at some point, and water into her hands to drink.

Before she knew it, the afternoon had passed away from her, and evening fell. The song of insects filled the dusky environs. She tried to adjust her vision in the dim light, but her mind was thick. _Did I fall asleep?_ Startled, she sat up from her makeshift bedroll next to the fire, which Jaime tended from his seat on a log beside her.

“Not so fast, Brienne,” he said. “We’re safe here, at least for the time being.”

Brienne felt confused, disoriented. Her cheek seemed to throb more than ever. Her head pounded.

“How long did I sleep?”

“I think about three hours, maybe four. Certainly not long enough.”

Brienne stretched her legs out from beneath her and tried to get her bearings. The flames sent strange shadows dancing along the ground. An image of Pod's feet kicking helplessly in midair as he was strung up haunted her. "Brienne," she heard Jaime call to her, but he sounded so far away. "Brienne!" She felt a sharp grip on one of her shoulders, shaking her fiercely. Jaime’s voice seemed nearer "My lady, you are fevered."

When she snapped out of the strange state she had been in, she found Jaime Lannister holding her awkwardly against himself, wiping her brow with his one good hand. _I must be in a dream. Jaime would not call me "my lady"._ "Please, Brienne, drink this water and strive to stay awake. I will boil some wine, and tend to your wound."

Brienne reached out to him, sure that she was still dreaming, grasping for his hand. "I need you, Jaime," she heard herself say as he took her hand, but wasn’t sure that she had actually said it. There was a long pause before he said anything. _This isn’t real._ She was sure that he would simply disappear, or worse, turn into the hideous image of Biter or Rorge. "I know, Brienne. And I am here," he said with a frown before releasing her hand and turning to the fire.

He is here, she thought, as he tended to her wound, his brows furrowed as he peeled off her old bandage.

"What have I done?" he mumbled, soaking a water boiled cloth into her wound, wiping at it gingerly. Sharp pain shot through her body, bringing tears to her eyes, causing Jaime to jerk.

"It was not you. It was Biter," she hissed through the pain, gritting her teeth as he washed the wound with the wine. The sting of it made her see black for a moment, before her eyes found Jaime's again.

“Stay awake.”

“Will it mend?”

“Not in time for this fool’s errand,” he grumbled. “But, yes—I think so. The tissue itself does not look overly inflamed. I am sure that your body simply needs some food and more rest. When was the last time that you ate?”

“I cannot remember.”

He wrapped her face in a new bandage cut from an extra shirt he had packed, but could not tie it off with one hand. “I’ll need you to tie this.”

“Jaime,” she ventured with uncertainty, “I wish that I had found another way... I am sorry—”

Jaime stood and walked away from her, and began digging through a pack.

“Do not say that you are sorry,” he muttered over his shoulder.

Brienne peered at him through the glare of the fire as the darkness settled swiftly upon their camp. He had his back to her, and was as distant as could be. She felt her eyes well with tears, even though she cursed herself for them. _I am weak_ , she thought, _and am not worthy of my sword. Lady Stoneheart was right. Oathbreaker._

“I am sorry,” she said again, her voice wavering, It took all of her focus, but she managed to get to her feet. “I should not have brought you here. I do not want you to die, I begged not to make that choice—”

Jaime turned to her then, and lit by the fire, he stood golden like the god she saw in her dreams. Even without his hand, he looked somberly regal, and more wholly a man than any other she had seen.

“Do not apologize,” he said, before walking around the fire and standing before her.

Brienne felt tears falling hot down her face and damned herself for letting them come. She shook her head and tried to turn away from him, tried to make this all a dream again, rather than reality. _Why am I so wrong at everything that I do?_ She squeezed her eyes shut, wincing at the desperation she felt.

Then, she felt his hand on her arm, and his other arm wrapped around her waist. She shuddered, crying in his arms, her emotions fighting between anger and sorrow and relief. When she eventually calmed herself, he brought her some bread to soften in broth and sat beside her to make sure that she ate it, but avoided looking at her. She remained silent the entire time that she ate, as did he. Brienne supposed that there wasn’t anything to say. She could not help but feel sorrow—as though she had lost something great that she would never get back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jaime and Brienne head to the Brotherhood without Banners to confront Lady Stoneheart for the sake of Podrick and Hyle, Brienne feels conflicted about her abilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I outlined this chapter (and the rest of the story) less than three days ago, and already I've got it up! I hope it's to your liking, and that you don't mind putting off the smut for another couple of chapters.

Brienne kept a hand on the hilt of Oathkeeper as they completed their ride through The Riverlands to the Brotherhood’s camp. She woke up that morning feeling somewhat better in body, but not in spirit. At Jaime’s insistence the previous night, she drank more than her fill of boiled water before settling into uneasy dreams. _Pod and Hyle. Biter. Rorge. The Lady._ Not only was she afflicted with the images of those innocents, who almost hanged and might still, but she relived the gnashing of Biter’s teeth into her cheek. The visage of The Hound, skewed onto the body of another, possibly _more vicious_ person confused her. _Was that real?_ she wondered. More deeply than even the physical wound of the beast named Biter was the one she inflicted on herself the night before. She cried. She, who never let tears fall! Even with the death of her king, Renly, she held them back. If there was one thing that she had learned from her long-gone days of being considered and then rejected as a marriageable maiden, it was that her tears did nothing but remind her of how weak that she truly felt inside.

Jaime rode beside her, stern-faced and silent. He had already tried to change her mind that morning, pleading with her to see reason, demanding that she delay. Now, his silence was as grim as death. His seemingly listless stare, which she did her best not to notice from the corner of her eye, chilled her. _Perhaps he thinks that he needs to steel himself for both of us, she thought._

##

“You must get more rest. Perhaps tomorrow you will have your strength back. Come now, Brienne. Surely you aren’t well enough—” he said, as she slowly got to her feet, that morning. Her body needed more rest, it was true. The aches she felt were plainly written on her face. _Why must he delay us? Unless he wants more time to convince me to give this up?_

“I _must_ be well enough. Podrick and Hyle depend upon it,” she spat out at him. “I did not want for your life to be at stake, I do not—”

“All right, that’s enough of that. Damn you, Wench! Do not act as though I am craven. Foolish, perhaps, for sending you out alone, when your name has already been stained in association with mine.” He looked up from his crouching position near the bags at Brienne, her bandaged face. “Criminally foolish.”

Jaime finished packing up their camp supplies into the sack, skillfully managing to set the buckle one-handed. Brienne saw that he was avoiding her, now. She was sure that it was her strange behavior the night before. _He doubts me, and not just my physical strength._

“Why are you still here?” she asked as she tightened the straps on her armor. He had his back to her, setting the bags onto his horse, and did not look back to answer.

“If we live through this, ask me again, Wench. Perhaps I’ll have an answer by then.”

##

_What if I am not strong enough? What, then? Will my ideals kill us all?_

Jaime never came up with a plan. He did not say it, but she knew what he was thinking. He thought that the entire thing was fairly hopeless. Maybe it was, but maybe... Maybe the Gods would smile upon them. _Father, give us justice,_ she prayed. _Warrior, give us strength. Crone, guide us._ Jaime was not one for prayer, she did not think. Neither was she. Perhaps that was their problem.

She closed her eyes for a moment as her horse walked her closer to their fates. She willed herself to find her strength. In that moment, the sensation of Jaime’s embrace from the night before, the unforgettable sight of him leaping to her aid back at Harrenhal flooded her with feelings, causing her heart to leap to her throat... _No. He is not where my strength comes from. Why must I think of him so?_ She could not shut her thoughts of him out, though. The way that he held her was so much more than her imaginings of herself with Renly. His arms were real, even if he was not the man she ever would have imagined. _Jaime is not my strength, but neither are my feelings for him my weakness._ When she opened her eyes, she was decided. She did not know where her strength came from, but it was all hers, and that strength would get them through this. They would live. _Father, Warrior, Crone—Aid me in this confrontation, allow us to live, and I will use my last breath to make sure that Sansa Stark is recovered._

Looking around herself, she found that the scenery along the road was becoming all too familiar. They were close. Very close. She was so weary, and in such pain when released by the Brotherhood—it was amazing that she remembered this road so well.

“This would be a good place to bind your hands, Jaime.” She was busy trying to avoid eye contact with him, fearing that he would see her thoughts from only a moment before. Jaime looked at her with an incredulous smile before shaking his head. And then, she couldn’t help but look. _Oh, Gods! His hands!_

“Oh! I’m sorry--”

“It’s quite all right, Brienne. I just hope that that isn’t the last joke I hear.”

Brienne flushed red as they brought their horses to a stop, dismounting. Annoyed with herself, she reached into her bag to get the rope.

“What’s that?” Jaime asked. “In the distance. It looks like--”

“A man,” Brienne finished, looking up. She could see it plain, the body which swayed from the tree down the road, and knew who it was. The flush in her hue paled instantly. “It’s Hyle Hunt. She broke her promise.”

They were silent together for a moment, watching the body sway.

“Let us abandon the whole ‘prisoner’ plan, shall we?” Jaime said. “I cannot stop you from continuing on to see if Podrick is still alive—and of course I will follow you into this nest of snakes, idiot that I am—but let us not pretend that either party is still keeping to original bargains.”

Brienne silently agreed. Her hands shook, she felt so much rage at the sight ahead. _Oathbreaker._ Hyle was not much to her, particularly with his previous participation in that foul bet to steal her maidenhood, but he did not deserve to die. Not like this. She mounted her horse, and before she knew what she was doing, raced off toward the tree. It was foolish, but she had to know. _How long has he hung there? Was this my fault? Did I take too long to return?_

“Brienne!” she heard yelled after her. The cool Riverlands air washed Jaime’s voice away, and her fear of Lady Stoneheart with it.

“Damn her,” she spat into the air, “Damn that creature!”

When she arrived at Hyle Hunt’s corpse, she remembered herself and gripped Oathkeeper’s hilt, ready for anything. She listened carefully. Nothing, not a sound, except for the morbid scrape of the hempen rope against the oak branch, and hooves pounding the road hard to catch up with her.

A crude “L” was painted in red on the body that swung before her, bloated and barely recognizable. At first she could not look away, trying to find any reason not to believe it to be Hyle. Hyle could not have been more than twenty-two. Caught up with her, Jaime paced his horse about the body. _His hair. That’s his hair. Those are his boots._ Disgusted, Brienne turned her face away. _This did not happen today, or yesterday._

“It looks like he’s been here for a few days, at least,” Jaime said, as though he could read her mind. “If she was trying to convince you of her seriousness about killing Podrick so that you would be more resolute in killing me... Well, I hope she’s failed.”

Brienne glared at Jaime. How could he speak in such a manner at a time like this? Yet, he was right. She knew that their previous non-plan of confronting the Brotherhood would not save Podrick, if he was still alive to be saved.

“Let us get off of the road. We are close. I can find our way there, if we keep the road in sight,” she said, her voice as rigid as Hunt’s corpse. She looked at the rope to cut it down, as she had with the women on the road at the beginning of her travels with Jaime Lannister, but knew better than to do that. She looked to Jaime and found him watching her with approval in his eyes. She puzzled at it for half of a second before they dismounted to lead their horses into the forest.

As they walked, Brienne thought back to the person she was before. That woman seemed so far away. So different. When they first started their journey, she cut those hanging women down, strangers. Back then, she had no regard for her or Jaime’s safety. She thought herself invincible. _Just looking at my face, one sees that I’m not who I once was._ Before, there only seemed to be one right thing to do. She could not see farther than her own nose, back then. Now, she knew that not thinking on the consequences of her actions was worse than fighting in a tourney without a sword.

She felt sorrow over leaving Hyle Hunt hanging there, however. He was being dishonored, used in death as a flesh sign for not just herself, but for any who passed that way. It was despicable. But, if they had cut him down, they would have announced their arrival in The Riverlands. Brienne had no intention of announcing their presence. A knot formed in her stomach as she realized that the time for adhering to codes of honorable combat was over.

##

Brienne and Jaime watched the cave mouth from afar, all afternoon. How she found it, she hardly knew, but like a raven carrying a message, she found her target. They only saw two men enter and exit, one being the large man with the yellow cloak. He was cruel, Brienne remembered. Lem Lemoncloak, someone had called him. He wanted to kill them all by sword. The other was the man she had spoken with, Thoros. Thoros of Myr.

The vision of Podrick’s neck caught up in their ropes assaulted her of a sudden, and made her shudder. She squeezed her eyes shut to regain her focus.

“Where did you think to do this?” Jaime whispered, tugging at one of the sapling branches that Brienne had strapped to his body.

“I learned to hunt from an old friend of my father’s. He did not take the approach of late-King Robert Baratheon, with his wine and servants,” she said, a bit sadly.

“Well, I do not like this creeping around like Wildlings,” Jaime grumbled at her, “I’ll be picking leaves out of my beard for the next week. I’m sure we’ll still be sitting here, however.”

A branch snapped in the near distance. _The horses? No,_ she thought, _they’re in the other direction, beyond the creek._

“Quiet,” she hissed at him.

Brienne’s senses lit up. Jaime placed his hand on her arm, stopping her as she was about to draw her sword. She felt his hand slide down her arm to her own hand, where it stayed with hers on her hilt. A pair of deer leapt into view together, bounding across their field of vision. Relief flooded her. _Deer._ Then, she noticed that his hand still rested on hers for a long moment. Her heart raced. When she looked at him, he removed his hand, but not before catching her eye. _What?_

“I do not imagine that we have much more to observe. It’s almost nightfall. Let us use the shadows and finish this. If you are correct, we have three to overcome. How are you feeling?”

“I am fine.”

“Enough to take on two?”

“If need be.”

“That’s it, Wench! You are starting to sound like your old, addled self.”

“And you sound like an imbecile, as always,” she said under her breath.

Jaime shot her a look of entertained surprise and wonder at her comment. Brienne let herself smile to herself, but briefly, paining her healing wound. This was not a time for smiling. _I’ll smile when young Podrick’s safe, and when we are gone from this damned place._

##

Brienne felt all of her muscles tighten as they cautiously stepped alongside the cave entrance. A man’s voice came out in echoes, scattering into the forest. Nervous, but focused, she concentrated on every step. Oathkeeper was drawn long before they reached the cave, held so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She felt Jaime’s presence just behind her, keeping to their formation of two. The precision with which he kept that fixed distance to her reminded her of how they once walked together, but he as her prisoner. _His hand is bound no more, and yet he is with me, just the same. Let us hope that this is not the last time that we will walk together,_ she thought in passing.

A slight warm wind passed out of the mouth of the cave as she warily turned her head around the dripping rocky wall to get a view inside. The smell of game roasting. Shadows playing against the wall. Yellow, draped over broad shoulders. Brienne swiftly turned her head back, looked to Jaime. The questioning look on his face asked her for details. She frowned, and then slowly turned her face about the edge, again. A shadow, a lean dark shadow stood against one of the walls. That shadow figure ate up nearly all of the light, except for a glinting off of its two, dead eyes. Brienne felt her stomach tense with fear. _Lady Stoneheart._ But, where was the other? And then, she had her answer. Listening to the yellow cloaked man’s story, just beyond the fire, was Thoros of Myr. Their eyes met. _Did he just look at me?_ Thoros continued to listen, but shifted slightly on his seat. He did not say a word, letting Lem Lemoncloak continue on with whatever it was that he was recounting. Brienne’s heart beat fast in her chest. _Why does he not say anything? Why does he not get up?_ Thoros met her eyes again and then laughed at Lemoncloak’s story. Brienne, confused, turned back out toward Jaime.

She leaned in close to whisper in his ear, so as not to divulge their location. His hair brushed her face as got as close as possible. “There are three, as I said. The large one has his back to the cave entrance, but the Lady Stoneheart will see us, straight away. And there is a third one, a red priest—Thoros of Myr—who sits beyond the fire.”

Jaime pulled away just far enough to look in her eyes. Brienne could feel his breath on her lips, as their eyes met. He leaned in and whispered to her, “Where is Podrick?”

“I believe that he is in a small branch of the cave, away from the main camp, where I was held for a time,” she whispered back. “But, there’s something else: Thoros knows that we are here.”

Jaime started at that, his body tensing, gone rigid. “Then why are they not all upon us, right now?” he fiercely hissed back.

“I do not know, but we will soon find out. I will attack the one with his back to us, to try and surprise at least him.”

Jaime leaned away from her and looked toward the cave opening. He settled into defensive posture, at first, alert. He looked much like he did after leaping in to face the bear with her, back at Harrenhal. And then, he moved to attack position behind her. His eyes were steady, but there was a wildness behind them. Desperation. A mixture of certainty and uncertainty. She felt the same confliction within herself and nodded at him. She was ready. He looked at her through the curtain of hair which had fallen in front of his eyes, as it always did. The feeling of sadness that overcame her was strange and unwelcome, amidst all of her battle-ready focus. She saw that his look was a last fond look, much like the one that her father gave her before she left to join Renly’s camp. There was more to it than that, but she pulled her eyes away from his. _I hope to be able to puzzle over that, over a campfire, later. If you will not help me Gods,_ she thought, _her body already propelling itself forward into the cave, may it be the last image that I see._

Brienne heard a cry come from herself, guttural, like a growl as she came upon the large yellow-cloaked man with all of her fury. He was fast for one with such a large frame. Unlike The Mountain, who lumbered, this one spun about to meet her face as soon as the foul Lady let out a rasping breath of alarm. In the corner of her eye, she saw Jaime head straight for the Lady Stoneheart, only to get caught up short when he was close enough to see her claims confirmed.

Brienne’s first swing with Oathkeeper missed Lemoncloak, the effort gone to waste striking her weary. Gritting her teeth, she brought up Oathkeeper again to strike, but his own sword was there already to receive hers. With annoyance, she recognized the steel. It was the same as those carried at Harrenhal by Bolton’s men. She cared not how he got one. Instead, as her Valyrian blade scraped along his, she focused on using hers to wipe that cruel smirk off of his face.

The sound of her own heart thudding drowned out all others, except for that of Jaime’s exertions against the Lady Stoneheart. _She can fight?_ Lady Catelyn was not trained, so far as she knew... Her mind was losing focus. Lem Lemoncloak overpowered her, and though she avoided the full brunt of his swing, her hip caught the tip of his sword in its downward arc. She felt the sword nick her flesh through her thick overshirt. The warmth spread slowly down her leg. She gritted her teeth at the pain of it, raising Oathkeeper in defense of another swift attack. And then her leg wobbled. She let out a cry of surprise as her left leg collapsed beneath her. _I have not eaten today,_ she remembered, but too late. She was scrambling on the cold ground, Lemoncloak’s sword raised again and ready to come crashing down on her. “Noooo!” she cried, as though her plea would somehow stop him short. 

Instead, it was Jaime’s sword that stopped him. Gruesome as it was, the sight of his sword tearing through Lemoncloak’s neck brought her relief. Bright red spilled over his boiled leather armor, out of his mouth, his teeth stained with it. She saw with horror, that Jaime had disregarded the Lady Stoneheart, who charged up from behind him, wielding her blade. She was many times stabbed, but, it seemed, to no avail. _What a fearsome creature!_

“Jaime!” she cried desperately, knowing that her words would not be enough to save him. She struggled to get up, but it was too late. 

The Lady’s steel point headed for his ribcage, but her momentum was stopped short. Thoros, the red priest, his eyes set alight like the fire beside him, held a large Dothraki arakh, and with a seemingly inhuman growl, ended The Lady with the removal of her head. It was almost too much for Brienne to continue looking, but she did. Struggling to her feet, she joined Jaime’s side to look upon the strange scene.

Brienne held her hand tight against her upper thigh upon re-sheathing Oathkeeper. Jaime kept his sword drawn, however, aiming it at Thoros, whose eyes seemed less fiery, of a sudden. They looked ordinary, again. Dull, even. Thoros let the imposing arakh drop to the ground with a clank, and with his other hand, he let drop the head of what was once Catelyn Stark. 

“I am no threat to you,” Thoros said, his voice even and soothing. He held his hands out steadily, in peace.

“You’ll understand that I prefer to be the judge of such things, priest,” Jaime said, his hand trembling slightly. Brienne got to his left, and gently placed her right hand on his arm.

“He will not take us on, Jaime. Lower your weapon.”

“This was the ending to Lady Stoneheart that R’hllor showed me in the fire,” Thoros said. “I’ll not pretend to know what happens next, but I hope that you’ll allow me to go on my way.”

Jaime kept his sword ready, clearly not ready to trust the red priest, just yet.

“Podrick. Where is he?”

“The boy’s bound on the other side of that rock formation. Don’t you worry—he’s recovered from his near-strangling at that monster’s orders decently enough.”

“Thank you,” Brienne said, walking past the fire and around the pillar of rock to find Podrick, hog-tied on his side. The rope’s burn about his neck reminded her of Hunt. _We will stop on our way out and find a way to get him buried,_ she thought.

“Are you all right, Pod?” she asked as she undid the gag about his mouth.

“Yes, Ser...” he said, eyes wide. “Are you, well, S-- My lady?”

“I’ll be fine, Pod.”

“I’m sorry for your friends, m’lady,” Thoros yelled from the other side of the rock face. “Podrick, I made sure was fed regular. Hyle Hunt... there weren’t a thing I could do for him.”

Brienne continued to untie Podrick, who was bound up in such a cruelly immobile way. She felt relief as she watched him relax out of his discomfort. Helping him to his unsteady feet, she lead him around the corner to Jaime. 

“Did I not ensure that you were fed, young Podrick Payne?” Thoros asked genially, beginning to sweat under the faltering but dangerous tip of Jaime’s weapon.

Podrick looked up to Brienne, and then to Thoros. “Yes,” he said, quietly.

Jaime lowered his sword and sheathed it.

“Fine, priest. I do not even wish to understand what took place to animate Lady Stark’s body, or to twist her soul so grotesquely,” Jaime said, his eyes flicking to the unfortunate remains of Catelyn Stark’s head, “Leave now, and pray to your R’hllor that you never encounter us, again.”

##

It was a difficult ride through the Riverlands forest, pushing back to their previous camp, but it was the only shelter that they trusted for miles. Podrick rode behind Brienne, checking every once in awhile to make sure that the bandage they had hastily tied to stanch the bleeding was secure. Brienne felt weak on her horse. Her wound made it difficult to grip on with her legs, normally her greatest source of strength. She chose to stay strong for Pod’s sake.

During their ride, she tried futilely not to think too much about those grotesque images of Hyle Hunt and Catelyn Stark. Terrible visions and feelings assaulted her mind with every step that her horse took. She tried to focus on other things, even things which embarrassed her, if only to escape from that painful onslaught.

She finally managed to turn her mind to that final puzzling look which Jaime gave her before she charged into the cave. She felt her pulse quicken as she recounted the depth of feeling which she sensed from his green eyes. _Am I not overestimating the concern that I saw in his eyes? Am I not wishing for more from him than he will ever feel?_ She felt her palms sweat, slipping her grip on the horse’s reins. _If I am, then why fight at my side? So that I could continue the hunt for Sansa Stark? Was it for the sake of his honor?_

Brienne watched Jaime’s shoulders, his hips move as he rode his horse ahead of them. _Whatever his reasons, and as strong as I may be, he is the reason that I am alive and unspoilt. Thrice, now._ She smiled to herself, for no one else could see what was in her heart, nor the admiration written on her face.

##

At the campfire, Podrick was treated to what little sustenance that they could provide for him in so short of a time—only some mushroom broth and dried meat from Jaime’s pack, and a little wine. Brienne scolded Jaime for taking the wine from the Brotherhood cave, labeling him a thief, but it was a half-hearted scold, at best. All three were quiet as they ate their meal, enjoying the warmth of the fire on their feet, but staying alert for strange sounds out in the night.

As they ate, Podrick’s eyes repeatedly wandered back to Brienne’s temporary bandage. Finally, Jaime looked up long enough to see the pattern.

“Wen--,” he started, before eyeing Podrick, “My lady, were you injured in the fight?”

“It was nothing,” she stammered, covering her leg with part of the blanket that she sat on to hide it.  
Jaime looked on, disbelieving. “I doubt that.”

“It was a scratch--”

“Which requires a tight bandage to stanch the blood?” he said, looking at Podrick. Podrick, clearly uncomfortable with being put into the middle of their discussion, slunk down, burying his head into his folded arms. 

“I haven’t seen you wash it out,” he said, finishing his last bite of the stale bread. “Perhaps I should help you with your--”

“No!” Brienne bit out, alarming poor Podrick with her sudden ferocity, “I mean 'no thank you', Ser Jaime. I am sure that I can manage.”

“As long as you manage,” he said with a confused shrug, before getting up to make water in the woods.

Brienne hated herself for being so reactionary, but also hated being viewed as the woman who always needed help. _I was fine before I met you, Ser Jaime,_ she thought. _I was fine._

“Excuse me, Pod. Could you put some wine to boil in one pot, and water in another?”

Brienne turned away from the fire and loosened her armor at the hip. Her overshirt and pants were sliced through. Blood stained the entire area around the cut. As she pulled the sticky fabric off of the wound, she winced. It was a bit of a gash, but did not bleed overmuch. Quickly, she put the bandage back. She would need to take her pants down to clean the wound properly. She was about to get up to walk away from the camp with the boiled wine when she found Jaime standing over her, in her way.

“You should go to sleep as soon as you’ve taken care of your injuries. Are you sure that the cut isn’t too deep?”

“I am sure,” Brienne said, surprised to find herself trying to convince him. He seemed genuinely concerned.

Jaime frowned.

“Might I see it for myself?” he asked in a whisper, glancing at Podrick to see if he heard. “It would put my mind at ease.”

Brienne sighed as she averted her eyes. Her heart was beating quicker, again, her breaths coming out faster to keep up. When she looked back, he was studying her curiously. His green eyes shone warmly, even in what little light was thrown against his face from the firelight. 

“Fine,” she said, a little relieved to have relented, “I suppose that you can see what you think of it.”

“Podrick,” he called out over his shoulder, “now might be a good time for you to take a rest. I am going to help Lady Brienne with her injuries, which may not be for your eyes.”

Brienne rolled her eyes at Jaime, who was always making things out to be greater than they were. In doing so, she caught Podrick’s embarrassed expression, and felt herself flush, as well. What must that lad think? I can’t imagine that we are setting the best examples of how a knight and lady should act around one another.

“Well, take a seat, my lady,” Jaime continued, “I’d like to get a rest, myself. You can take first watch.”

“Lovely,” she grumbled. 

Brienne found her spot on the log and looked to Podrick. He already was curled up on his bedroll, back to the fire, and to them. Jaime seated himself beside her, waiting expectantly.

“Well?”

“Do you expect me to just pull my pants down!?” she asked, incredulously, feeling herself turning redder the more that she imagined the idea. 

“I’m not sure how else this will work, Brienne.”

_Why did I agree to this!?_ she thought madly, her heart beating so fast that she could almost see her pulse. He watched her with great interest, his eyes traveling over her face with their tremulous brows, her shoulders, which hunched closer together, her hands, clutching at each other awkwardly... _What does he see? What is he thinking?_

“Fine,” she said, exasperated. She heard a slight tremble in her voice, “But, only look at the wound. If my father was here...”

“If your father was here, he would be looking at the wound to make sure that you aren’t badly injured. But, he’s not here.”

Brienne looked him in the eye as she unlaced her pants, to be sure that he would not let his eyes stray too far. _He’s seen you before, all of you. Why does it matter? _Her heart was beating faster and faster. _This cannot be the right reaction._ As she shimmied her trousers down over her hips, carefully peeling them away from her wound, she kept her eyes on his. He was breathing faster, like her, his expression strange. It was as though his feelings were in constant shift. She rotated her hip up, so that he could see it better in the light of the fire. With a trembling hand, she tried to hold her overshirt to her body, so that he would not see more than he needed to. He leaned forward, reaching over her with his left hand to get a look.__

“What is it?” she asked, her voice unsteady. “Do you see anything wrong?”

“No,” he said, leaning back, but settling himself closer to her. “It looks like it just needs to be rinsed and bandaged properly.”

“I hope that you’re satisfied,” she said, flustered. She breathed in his particular musky scent deeply, almost finding herself leaning in closer to him. She stopped herself just in time.

“I am,” he said, a half-smile turning up at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll get the wine, and we’ll get this over with, so I can get to sleep.”

Patting her overshirt down, she found that her hands were still shaking. _Gods, what is wrong with me?_ Brienne licked her lips, wiped at her brow with the back of her hand. She was sweating, ever so slightly. When Jaime came back with the liquids, he saw her wiping her forehead. 

“Are you feverish, still?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think that the fever has left me,” she said, looking anywhere but at his face. He crouched to set down the two pans he had so deftly managed with one hand, and felt her forehead. His nearness was intoxicating to Brienne, his face only inches from her own.

“I’m glad that’s behind you,” he said with a frown, and took up the water pan. “Lean back, so that I can rinse that.”

As he rinsed her injured hip, she watched his face, his concentration. It was curious, how his eyebrows fluttered as she watched him. He switched to the boiling wine, but before doing so, warned her to brace herself. The pain was intense, but momentary. Still, it brought water to her eye. He went to his packs to retrieve clean bandages, and was about to try to fit one on, when they both realized that doing so would involve putting his hand in a very awkward spot between her thighs.

“I can do that,” she offered, sitting up quickly, but too quick, it seemed. She saw that he was looking down at her lap, his eyes traveling over her creamy thighs, lingering over the area where they met. She was covered enough by her overshirt for him not to see her cunt, but just barely. When he met her eyes again, as she scrambled uselessly to tug at the pants she was sitting on, she saw that he was breathing faster again. He dropped the bandage in her lap, seeming to be embarrassed himself, and turned away.

“Will you be able to take care of bandaging your face?” he asked over his shoulder. 

“Yes, of course,” she said, confused.

“Then,” he said, turning his head only enough so that she saw the silhouette of his profile, “I’ll lay down for a couple of hours. Wake me up when it is my turn to keep watch, if you please.”

Brienne finished lacing her pants, watching him walk away, to the other side of the fire. He kept his back turned to her the entire time. More than ever, she did not know what to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and kudos! They are much appreciated! I'm not sure that I'll get the third chapter up before I leave for a weekend trip on the afternoon of the 10th. I'll certainly try.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne return from their rescue operation successful, but have other hills left to climb. And... Podrick doesn't do much. Sorry.

Brienne’s heart raced as she walked to him from her corner of the steaming bath. The warm water, heated by the springs below Harrenhal, slipped seductively through her fingers as she moved toward Jaime’s submerged form. She felt the water cooling on her body, and looking down, watched it drip from the tips of her small breasts into the bath. She was close enough to touch him, but simply stood before him, watching his eyes gaze over her body, transfixed. Then, when their eyes met, he stood to meet her, to regard one another as equals. They stared at one another, her own blue eyes peering curiously into his green ones. He raised his right hand to touch her— _Oh, Gods, I am dreaming this, again. Please, but don’t let it stop._ He cupped one of her breasts in his right hand, letting it slip against the moisture still clinging to her chest, rubbing her nipple with his thumb, all the while looking into her eyes. _It was the look that I saw when he gazed at my lap,_ she thought, startling herself uncomfortably awake.

Her heart thudded in her ears as she awoke too early next to the dying fire. The air was so chill... It was as though the temperature dropped to near freezing, in one night. _Winter is coming,_ she remembered. _The Starks. Lady Catelyn._ With a sigh, she took stock of her companions. Jaime had taken his shift after hers, and now poor Podrick was keeping watch, with the dawn still at least an hour away. She whispered at Podrick to get back to sleep, and reluctantly got up to her feet to seek out more wood for the fire. She tried to avoid passing by Jaime, but like iron to a lodestone, she was drawn to him. _The wood’s behind him, anyway,_ she reasoned. Brienne clenched her jaw as she passed, trying not to look. But, she did, and sighed at herself. _I’m acting like the maiden at the tourney, rather than one in it._ Even from the brief glance, she was tormented by how beautiful that he was. The man was twice her age, but seemed infinitely more attractive than any of the younger men nearer to her age had ever been. _Even Renly._ She stopped short before the small pile of gathered wood and closed her eyes against the image of the smoke-demon skewering him before her. Brienne forced herself to gather her wits and focus on the task at hand. That was how she had made it, all of those times without Jaime, or anyone. _One thing at a time._

Annoyed with herself, she made sure to pass by Pod as she built up the fire, to check on him. The lad was already dead asleep. _Good, he needs all of the rest he can get, poor boy._ She saw that he was curled up against what modest cover that they packed, and worked to build up the fire again. Crouching down, she carefully tugged the blankets up to cover his shoulder and tucked them in around him, like her father used to do when she was cold. In his sleep, the boy seemed to relax somewhat. He looked so young. _Too young to deserve this mad world._

After a bit of fighting within herself, she finally allowed herself to look toward Jaime again as she set herself down beside the fire. His countenance was so placid, unlike the seemingly-permanent frown that he usually wore. Even his jests at her, as obnoxious as they were, were half-hearted. Perhaps that was why she managed to tolerate them for so long. _I suppose that war takes the heart out of us all,_ she thought. _War,_ Brienne thought with a frown. _Jaime will be expected back at King’s Landing, or else to play some role out in the field._

Drawing her blankets closer about herself, she shifted a bit on the log, convincing herself that she was trying to move nearer to the fire. Her eyes went to Jaime’s face, however, telling a different story. _Of course, he will need to leave us. I don’t know how I could expect him to stay. I convinced him to come out here with false reasons, and now? Will he still trust me? His behavior is... He has been kind, but is that pity? It could be out of necessity. If he wants me to continue with the search for Sansa..._

Brienne knew that she was working herself up, and looked back to the fire, ashamed. _Sansa._ She wished that she knew where to look for her, but was at a loss. And with the oak leaves turning their colors, blazing out their final reds and golds before the coming cold, the road had become more difficult, yet. Back in Saltpans, she sensed that she was close, somehow. She could not put her finger on it, but it was as her septa had told her, so many times before—some mysteries of a woman’s heart are hers alone to guide her.

Brienne got up and added another bit of wood to the fire. She heard a groan, which startled her, but saw that it was only Jaime, shifting in his sleep. _A dream. Oh, gods. A dream!_ She tried not see him, naked, standing before her in her mind’s eye. She tried not to feel that sensation on her breast which she had never once had from another person, much less Jaime. She tried not to feel her heart flutter at the sight of his eyes hungrily examining her reaction as he leaned in... _Damn me to the Seven Hells!_

“Brienne?” she heard called out to her quietly. “Are you all right?”

Brienne wondered if he could see the embarrassment on her face, or if it had become so common a feeling in her that she had managed to pass it off as her normal countenance. “I’m fine. Did I wake you?”

“No, it was just...” Jaime started, suddenly looking away with an odd expression. “It was just a dream.”

When Jaime finally looked back at her, it was a sheltered sort of look, as though he were a child with something to hide. _Is he about to tell me something I don’t want to hear?_ Jaime seemed to be trying to avoid her eyes, seeking out the ground at every other moment.

“Well, could you come closer so that we may talk without my having to leave the warmth of my blankets?” he asked, in his typical droll fashion. 

Reluctantly, Brienne fetched her own blankets and found a seat near him, and in front of the fire. She felt her back tingle as she sat in front of him, so that she could face the warmth. Being near to him was its own particular feeling, and whether she liked it or not, it comforted her. It was like a worn-in boot sliding over one’s heel as it was put on. She sighed to herself, waiting for whatever it was that he had to say. But nothing. For minutes, nothing. At first, she was bothered by it, but then resigned herself to the silence. Jaime finally sat up, and drawing his blankets close, scooted beside her.

“What do you think that we should do next?” Brienne asked cautiously, unsure that she wanted the answer. 

“I think that we should head back to Maidenpool.”

Brienne felt her heart jump into the back of her throat. _Does he mean to take us back to King’s Landing? Does he mean for us to go after Sansa Stark at all?_ “That sad, devastated place? The ruined town?”

“We need somewhere for you to gather your strength for a short while. You need more rest, although I can see that you are doing better. Podrick could use the rest, as well.” Jaime turned his face to look at the young squire, huddled warm under his blankets. He looked for a moment, and then with a smile, turned to Brienne.

“What is it?”

“Did you tuck the lad in?” he asked, the bemusement clear on his voice.

“I... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brienne stammered, and looked down. Jaime continued to smile at her, trying to make eye contact, but she pulled her knees closer to herself and focused on the dirt in front of her. 

“It seems quite unfair that you would tuck the blankets in about the boy, and not me!” he said, continuing with his prod. 

“Oh, just shut up!” she bit off. _Gods, he is so frustrating!_ They managed to sit in silence together for a while longer, the sky finally changing from its inky hue to the purple-indigo of pre-dawn. “Jaime, do you really think that Maidenpool is our best destination?”

Brienne looked over at him finally, after avoiding him since his joke. His face had become drawn and somber. “We are outlaws, the two of us. Nearly every place that we go, we will be unwelcome and in danger. There is a chance that we can get ready for those inevitable fights, if we have shelter, for a time.”

_He means to stay with us?_

“Oh, what is it, Wench? I can see that something is on your mind.”

Brienne stared at him questioningly, not even remembering to monitor herself. Jaime gazed back, watching her, waiting. “So, you mean join us in our search for Lady Catelyn’s daughter Sansa?” she asked, somewhat incredulously.

“Yes,” he said, his face cloudy. “Despite the twisted thing that she became, I made an oath to her better self. I promised that I would return her. I was an idiot... It was wrong for me to send you off alone to... to save my honor.”

“But what of the Kingsgu--”

“What of the Kingsguard!?” Jaime shouted, his voice silencing the chattering birds that had been greeting the day. “What of the Kingsguard, when I—the Kingslayer—went against my post? Did I not break my oath then? I was treated as less than a member of the Kingsguard before I committed that necessary act, by Barristan Selmy who thought I was too young, too inexperienced. And then, afterward, I was treated as an enemy for doing what had to be done.”

Brienne had been startled, but listened enrapt, as he went on. 

“I have been pushed and pulled against what I wanted for my entire life. I thought that I had long ago resigned myself to it. But, I have not,” he said, looking down, tortured by his past. He met her eyes again, with an expression of desperate hope which pained her to the very core. “Do you still think me ‘The Kingslayer’, after all that we have been through?”

“No, I do not.” _I love you,_ she added in her thoughts, her conscious admission of those words paining her even further. _I... love... him._ Jaime’s expression softened somewhat as he watched Brienne. He seemed to relax, as he confirmed the truth of her words on her face. _I love you,_ she thought, wishing that she could say it aloud. She wished that she didn’t feel this way. She wished that she would always feel this way.

“My regret is of leaving Tommen to sit on the throne. I cannot remove him, the sweet boy, but may be doing him more harm by being near him. I... believe that...” and then Jaime’s eyes met Brienne’s with with turmoil, which struck to the core of her soul. “My _son_ is closer to being found out now, than ever before. He is a good boy. I cannot believe that Stannis Baratheon’s letter will be ignored forever, but perhaps if I am not there, there is a chance...”

Brienne sat perfectly still next to Jaime, focusing on the fire. She could sense that he was waiting for her to react. Hearing him say those words did not have the effect upon herself that she would have expected. She was not angry, or disgusted. She was relieved. Brienne looked over at the man to her left, who seemed so strangely nervous, troubled. He looked up and met her eyes. His nervousness seemed to dissipate, as though washed away. He sat up straighter, held his head higher.

“I am sorry for your Tommen,” she said, careful to meet his eye steadily. “What will happen, once it is determined that you have... left your duty?”

“At best, I will be named a coward, an oathbreaker. The Lannister bannerman may desert us,” he said, a crooked smile forming on his face. “I’ve already written into the White Book—perhaps they will simply treat me as though I am dead.”

“You are willing to be without a home?”

“I don’t think that I ever had one. Not Casterly Rock, at least, not since our mother died. Certainly not King’s Landing. I have no thought of returning to that place.”

The sun painted the sky all shades of pinks and oranges, overhead. Brienne had so much more that she wanted to ask, to know from him, but she contented herself in knowing that he would stay. She was about to stand in order to start packing up camp when Jaime reached for her with his stump arm.

“You are smiling,” he said softly, searching her eyes. “I wish that I saw your smile more often.”

Brienne quickly covered her teeth, as her septa trained her so long ago. She felt her cheeks get warm, as she had not even realized that she was smiling. _What must he think?_ A fear coursed through her, that he would uncover the truth about her, and would leave, disgusted. 

With his left hand, Jamie took hers, which covered her mouth. To her own surprise, Brienne did not fight him, letting him take it. She was so distracted by the curious look in his eyes, and by his unexpected gesture, that she could not think. Her pulse raced so fast. He let go of her hand, but still looked on at her.

Jaime leaned closer and took the liberty of gently placing his right arm against her injured hip. It was still tender to the touch, yet she found herself yearning to press her hip against him. An intense warmth grew in her belly. _What is happening?_ she thought, nervously, as the warmth spread outward.

“Your injuries... Is the cut on your hip knitting itself back together?”

Brienne nodded, forcing herself to swallow back every warning which her septa had given her as a young maid about men, and their ways. He brushed the torn side of her face with his hand. Her eyes fluttered closed involuntarily at his touch.

“Has the swelling gone down?” he asked quietly.

When she opened her eyes—feeling as though she would burst if she did not look—she found that he was even closer. The blanket which had lain about her shoulders slipped off as she leaned in toward him, but she felt no less warm. She watched him closely, and he her.

“Jaime,” she said, watching his mouth as he watched hers. “I...” _I love you. I love you. I love you,_ her body said, willing her to touch him back. Her entirety begged her to repeat the sensation she had in the baths at Harrenhal, when she held him. Nothing separated them, then.

“What is it, Brienne?” he whispered.

_Kingslayer’s Whore. Kingslayer’s Whore. Kingslayer’s Whore._

Brienne moved back, away from Jaime, alarmed and confused. Whatever spell that they had both been under was broken. She felt the emptiest that she had felt since she held Renly’s corpse in her arms, the moment that he removed his hand from her face. She could do nothing to take it back, so instead, she did what else she knew to do. She stood and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to end that chapter so abruptly, but time period-wise, there was nowhere else to go. 
> 
> So, I don't know if this will disappoint you, or what, but I probably won't get chapter four up until Wednesday the 15th. Love your feedback!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's fear of intimacy is tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I repeated a couple of paragraphs from the end of the last chapter, to set the continued scene of Chapter 4. Prepare yourself for mild smut (and so it begins!) and a fluffy chapter ending! I really hope that you like this... eep!
> 
> *You may notice that Brienne's internal monologue doesn't pop up so much in this chapter. I decided to reduce its presence in the last two chapters, since (in my opinion) a woman doesn't always have coherent thoughts in her mind when amorous stuff is going on.

“Jaime,” she said, watching his mouth as he watched hers. “I...” _I love you. I love you. I love you_ , her body said, willing her to touch him back. Her entirety begged her to repeat the sensation she had in the baths at Harrenhal, when she held him. Nothing separated them, then.

“What is it, Brienne?” he whispered.

_Kingslayer’s Whore. Kingslayer’s Whore. Kingslayer’s Whore._

Brienne moved back, away from Jaime, alarmed and confused. Whatever spell that they had both been under was broken. She felt the emptiest that she had felt since she held Renly’s corpse in her arms, the moment that he removed his hand from her face. She could do nothing to take it back, so instead, she did what else she knew to do. She stood and walked away.

Her large legs carried her swiftly away from the camp, through the sapling thicket, and into the marshy Riverlands muck. She heard him call her name, but ignored it. 

“I know what you want from me,” he yelled at her back, louder than she would have dared. Brienne ceased her pointless march into the surrounding woods of their camp. She did not have a destination anyway, or a desire to leave. She simply wanted to be away from him. Or, at least, she thought so, until she heard his voice, again. Brienne turned to face him. He jogged up to join her, splashing into the marshland even, the muddy water up to his shins.

“I do not ask for anything,” Brienne stammered, as he came to stand a little too close to her. Brienne backed away from him a step, but he followed her. She clutched the blanket which she had carried from the camp closer to herself. 

“I will tell you true—You want more from me than I can give,” he said, his eyes penetrating into hers as he waded closer.

_Of course, he cannot love me back_ , she thought, her heart sinking. Despite the ache of this thought, and her discomfort at his nearness, she stayed still and kept her eyes on his.

“You want me to be a perfect knight and keep my oath as a member of the Kingsguard. Yet, you also wish for me to shirk that responsibility in honor of another—to walk with you into the unknown, to save Sansa. You want me to be a faultless protector. To be more like... you,” he said, running his hand through his hair.

“I am neither faultless, Ser Jaime,” she said, tripping on her words, “nor am I much of a protector.”

“You are as damned near to being perfect as any man—or woman—could hope to be.”

Brienne turned away from him and his green eyes which so determinedly sought her attention. 

“That’s not true. And I do not wish for you to be perfect, Jaime,” Brienne said to the trees, to the muck. She felt Jaime step closer to her. 

“I can be loyal to the people of Westeros,” he said, “and if I strive, can be the protector that I should have been. I will keep my word about the Stark girl.” Brienne heard his every word and weighed it in her heart. What he said was good, and right. Yet, by saying it, Jaime reminded her that she had conveniently dismissed any thought of his role as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Once he joined her to save Podrick, she had forgotten what she _would_ have thought of his defection, for the sake of having him at her side. Brienne trudged away from him through the water, up onto more solid ground.

“Brienne,” he said softly, almost pleading. She turned, her heart a mixture of different emotions, as muddy and unclear as the water that he stood in. “I can be loyal to _you_.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She felt terror again, like she felt when they sat together, moments before.

“I _am_ loyal to you, Lady Brienne of Tarth.”

Brienne was startled to hear him call her name in that way. To see him stand there in the murky pool and say those words to her, so earnestly and true, gave her a strange and new feeling. This feeling seemed to fill her, as his words repeated themselves thousands of times within only a blink of her eyes.

“I know that you have been hurt by a man before,” he said, moving closer, until he was as close as he had been at the fireside. He looked up into her eyes, so closely that she felt as though he could see her soul. “But, I am not such a man as Ronnet Connington.”

“No, you are not,” she heard herself answer him breathlessly. Her lips remained parted as she beheld his gaze.

“For one thing, you did not love that man,” he said with a mischievous half-smile.  
Jaime’s words echoed in Brienne’s mind as true, however presumptuous and vain that it was for him to speak for her. She was tired of distrusting him. She had lived in a wearying state of distrust of men’s romantic overtures for years, now.

“Why would you try to put such words in my mouth?” she asked, ever-vigilant. Her face was filled with hope, but her body ached from the anticipation of his rejection. Jaime inched closer to her, his eyes passing between her expectant stare and her slightly open, inviting mouth.

“Because... as you need me, I need you.”

Before she knew what she was doing, Brienne leaned down and kissed him. Her lips lingered on his, breathing in his scent, feeling his warm breath on her cheek. Her body spread with warmth again, as she pulled him closer to her by his collar, and he grasped her in his arms. Brienne had seen kisses before—mostly the lusty ones that she would spy on in the stables of Evenfall as a child—and had been picturing herself kissing Renly in that way for years. That was until recently, when Jaime had asserted himself into her dreams, kissing her, undressing her, in Renly’s stead.

A sigh sprang out inside of her as Jaime pulled her closer to him, his tongue gently licking at her upper lip until her mouth parted to receive it. His kisses were hungry, but tender, catching her amateur fumbles and rescuing them. She pulled herself away from him to catch his eyes with hers, to see what his face showed. Jaime’s look was restless, almost nervous. He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips, once, then twice, playful..

“Tell me that you love me, Brienne,” he said, pulling her down with him to their knees on the hard ground. Jaime kissed her with more authority than he had before, on her mouth, and then down her neck to her collar. Obstructed by the armor she wore, he loosened the buckle at her right side with his good hand as he kissed her, until Brienne stopped him with a grip at the wrist. They regarded one another fiercely, until he broke the stare with a kiss, and she loosened her grip, only gently holding his wrist as he undid the buckle. Her belly tingled, blood coursing hot through her veins, feeding her senses. She took charge of the other two buckles on the other side, when he was done. “Say it, Brienne,” he commanded, his free hand gripping the hair at the back of her head, just hard enough. 

Brienne became excited as he pulled her head toward his, kissing her with an almost-desperate intensity. Between kisses, he looked to her eyes for recognition, for confirmation. Brienne breathed in his sweaty scent. Once, she found his mannish smell to be an annoyance, but his scent had become a source of comfort to her, making her smile. She was smiling now, even though the way that it tugged at her repairing skin pinched. Eyes half-lidded, she looked into his, which were so caught in between desire and agony that it would have worried her, had she not gotten wet with lust from the sight of it. She lifted at her armor, pulling it over her head as she sat back onto her heels. Brienne was cold right away, and could feel her nipples harden even beneath the wrapping she used to keep her breasts bound. 

When her armor was set aside, Jaime leaned in close to her, pulling her toward himself. She could feel his solid chest through their shirts as they pressed up against one another. Brienne initiated a kiss upon his neck, her hands reaching beneath his shirts, seeking more. She gasped as she found his body between her hands, tracing the muscles in his back down to his waist, and experimentally letting her fingers graze the waist of his trousers. He let out a moan, and looked down. Following his eyes down, she saw the rise in his trousers as his cock strained against them. Jaime regarded her with impassioned admiration as she continued to trace her hands over his abdomen, even though she showed embarrassment at the arousal in his pants. 

Hesitantly, Brienne moved her hands to his arms, and ran them down his taut forearms to clasp his hand in hers. She rested her other hand on the stump where his wrist once was, her hands shaking. Brienne shyly guided his arms up to her own strong waist, underneath her shirt. It felt so good to feel his skin against hers that she closed her eyes to savor it. She heard him whisper her name in between kisses, and it sent a shudder of delight up and down her. Brienne ran her hands back down over his forearms to his elbows as he touched her, moving up toward her bound breasts and down again to her lower back. She kissed him hard, biting at the meat of his lower lip as she sucked on it. Every move he made against her body fueled her desire even more, causing her breaths to come out ragged against his mouth. 

Brienne undid the cloth wrapped securely against her chest, releasing her small breasts to him. He looked to her for approval before reaching up beneath her shirt to where they stood alert, and grasped the right teat in a light squeeze. She leaned in and kissed him at that, but slowly. With every new touch on her body as they kissed, Brienne felt herself get more and more aroused. She wanted it. She wanted it all, whatever it was like, even though it meant that she would no longer be a maiden. She wanted to feel his skin hot up against her. He wanted her, body and soul—she knew it as well as she knew the weight of Oathkeeper in her hand—and she wanted him to have her.

_Kingslayer’s Whore. Kingslayer’s Whore. Kingslayer’s Whore._

When the words of the Brotherhood echoed in her mind, she stiffened. _It is true, then. They saw me true._ Just when she was about to lose her nerve again, as had happened before, she reclaimed her confidence. _And I have been called other names. Names which no more defined me than “Kingslayer” described him._ Jaime sat back somewhat and observed her gooseflesh, which had sprung up all over her exposed skin. _There is some truth in every injurious name one is called, or else it would not inflict injury._

“You are cold. Perhaps we should cease, return to the fire,” he said, although it did not seem as though that was what he truly wished to do. Brienne discerned concern in his face and smiled with adoration at the beautiful man before her. “What is it, my lady?”

She grabbed the blanket, which had been tossed aside on the ground, and wrapped it around her shoulders, stretching it to wrap around his, as well.

“Two things, Ser Jaime. First, I think that you are right. We should return, and make sure that Podrick gets something to eat.” Brienne said, kissing him sweetly as they held each other beneath the wool blanket. 

“What is the second thing?”

“I... I _do_ love you, Ser Jaime.”

The momentary silence, and his curious examination of her as she said those words burned her. _I’ve done wrong, I should not have said--_ Until he clutched her closer, kissing her face and neck liberally down to the opening of her shirt, which he unlaced so that he could continue his cascade upon her body. She felt so stirred by the touch of his lips to her skin, his physical arousal at her declaration, that she was sure that her pants were dripping with her cunt’s juices.

“Sit on top of me,” he said breathily in between kisses. “Straddle me.”

“But, I’m too--” Brienne started to protest.

“Sit on my lap, Brienne,” he said with authority. Brienne was disturbed for a moment by the sudden change in his demeanor, but was also entranced and excited by it. His voice, his hand’s touch, were urging—not forcing. 

Jaime rearranged himself from his knees to sitting with his legs forward, and used his right hand to keep himself propped comfortably up. With reluctance, Brienne kneeled on either side of him, resting her sit bones against his hips. She felt his cock, large and hard beneath her, and looked up to his glittering green eyes. She could not bother with the annoyance of the pebbles which dug into her legs, as his throbbing dick radiated such heat beneath her, rubbing through the fabric against her pussy. Finding her balance, she kissed him hard, taking hold of him by the shirt. The rub of his cock against her own wetness was intoxicating, and she found herself rocking her hips back and forth to feel it more. When she took a moment to look at him, he had such a smug look on his face that she would have punched him, had he not been smiling in just that particular way of his. 

_SNAP!_ In the distance, a twig broke, causing them both to break their consuming stare toward its source near the camp. _Oathkeeper is still at my bedroll_ , she thought with remorse. As though synchronized, she leapt to her feet, as did Jaime, both of them moving smoothly to hide behind the nearest oak. _What was I thinking?_ she berated herself as she turned her head about the massive trunk to search for the cause of the sound. _Podrick._ Brienne sighed as she spied him barely catch himself from a trip over a tree root. _How could we leave him alone?_ She looked with disappointment to Jaime—disappointment over their interrupted encounter, but more with their abandonment of young Pod—and he nodded grimly. 

Jaime quickly retrieved her armor and blanket, passing them to her before heading off toward Pod. She saw him greet the lad, who seemed to be collecting wood for the fire. She felt a pang of sadness, watching him jog away, leading Pod in the other direction. She knew it to be irrational, but felt it just the same. Brienne put on her chest wrappings again, trying not to think about the feel of him against her. _It is wrong for us to neglect Podrick for our own sakes. He is our responsibility, now,_ she thought, the soberness of the realization washing the enthusiastic color out of her cheeks.

##

When Brienne returned to their camp, with a bundle of wood she picked up along the way, it was to two entirely different looks from Podrick and Jaime. Podrick seemed happy and relieved to see her, perhaps not yet comfortable with such illustrious and infamous company as Jaime Lannister. She avoided meeting Jaime’s eyes, although she did not know why she should be nervous to do so.

“Podrick, I see that you already gathered some firewood for us,” she observed. “Are you feeling rested, then? Better?”

Pod shrugged, “I suppose so... my lady.”

Brienne nodded. “Good. I believe that we will be heading to Maidenpool straight away. You will get more time to rest there with us, until we have gathered ourselves to continue our search for Lady Sansa.”

She felt Jaime’s gaze on her, saw him peripherally, and wondered why it would be different to be back in camp with him. Why do I avoid looking at him?

“My lady,” Jaime said, his voice edged with his impatience, “I would like to speak with you, in private, about some of the details of our plans for Maidenpool.”

Podrick looked between the two, and then embarrassed, looked down at the ground. Of course, he knows. Or, at least he suspects. I am sure that it was no great leap, with all of my delirious calling of Jaime’s name in the cave. Brienne nodded and still avoiding his stare, walked with him toward the horses, who were still tied near the giant oak tree with its fiery red and gold leaves. _Lannister colors,_ she thought. _And they will fall, soon._ Brienne cursed herself for making such a cynical observation as she followed Jaime around the great trunk.

As soon as they turned out of sight of Podrick, she felt Jaime pull her to him. She required very little cue to lean her head down to kiss him. A great feeling of relief washed over her at the respite from her strange insecurity from before, as their lips met. She clasped his body to hers as they kissed, their initially fervent embrace relaxing. 

“There is something which I meant to say to you, before we were interrupted,” Jaime said, stopping to kiss her lightly before pulling back to look in her eyes. “Perhaps it is better that I say it here, standing with you fully clothed, rather than fumbling on the ground.”

Brienne flushed at his slightly jesting mention of their recent activities, and turned her head away. Jaime took her chin in hand and directed her eyes back to his. She felt trepidation at what he might say, suddenly, even though he held her close.

“I love you,” he said, his voice unshakably serious as he said it. It reminded her of the times that he had spoken with her before leaving Harrenhal, and of when he presented her with Oathkeeper in King’s Landing. “I love you.”

“Ser Jaime, I--”

“I’m not finished, Wench!” he laughed, the guileless smile on his face warming her heart, despite his use of her old name of derision. “I did not know that I loved you until I was sure that you loved me—when you told me that you needed me, delirious as you were by the campfire the night before last—I saw and heard it plainly. In that moment I realized... that I returned your feelings, equally.”

##

They rode in silence to Maidenpool, Jaime pointedly avoiding eye contact with her, and she with him. Despite their best efforts to hide their feelings, Podrick did not seem the least bit confused as to why there was such a pronounced quiet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not having them "go all the way"! You know I like to keep y'all hanging! 
> 
> I am going to be adding more plot than was offered in the last two chapters in chapter 5, so that my ramping up of the smutfest in the next installment won't be too over-the-top. And to tie things up, of course. 
> 
> I'm sure I'll be sorry to say goodbye to this particular storyline! I love Brienne and Jaime so much, it hurts. GAH!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it to chapter five! I recognize that I really kept you hanging there with the angst and the doubt and all of that, but hope that my smut-fluff ending will make up for it. Please let me know what your thoughts about the story were... I am definitely out-of-practice in this particular kind of writing, and could use the encouragement/pointers.

Finally, the sweat which hung from the tip of his perfect nose fell to the floor in one great drop, when he completed the arc of his great swing against the wooden dummy. Brienne spent the last hour pretending not to be watching Jaime practice one-handed form against the now-mangled post of wood, but in truth, she was enrapt. He had been beating his Lannister blade, once fine-edged and glorious, against trees and any object that would take his abuse, ruining its edge.

“I can get a new one,” he had said, when she first complained, “this one means nothing to me, anymore.”

Brienne knew that to be a lie, when he said it, but she also knew that he was trying to make it true. His Lannister sword had heft and his determined destruction of it gave him the strength that he sought. While he was exhausted from his continual practice with it for the first week that they had hidden low in that abandoned Maidenpool inn, he quickly gained strength. Today, he seemed to have more energy than ever, filling the room with his sweat. Brienne breathed in his scent, closing her eyes occasionally to remember the feel of his hardness against her sex back in the woods those three long weeks earlier. She closed her eyes to remember the gratification on his face when she told him that she loved him.

“Are you ready to fight a one-handed, tired old man, young Podrick?” Jaime asked, a bit winded but not spent.

“Yes, Ser. Of, course, Ser!” Podrick replied enthusiastically, having waited all morning in his mail for the opportunity to be granted.

Brienne looked up directly at Jaime from where she sat, mending the hole in her overshirt with some of the supplies she had scavenged. He glistened from his efforts, not just from sweat, but from a certain unnameable vibrance which he carried with him since that day when they had shared their feelings. They had not said another word on love, since then, but it had passed between their eyes during quiet moments. It was spoken with his touch, when he would brush his fingers against hers when Podrick was turned away. Jaime looked up at her while Podrick turned to get his sword, returning her gaze, smiling at her in just that way.

Brienne felt herself smile in return—she could not help herself. When Podrick turned back to face his opponent, he caught their attention to one another and immediately cast his eyes to the ground, embarrassed. Brienne turned her eyes away, as well. She hated to think it, but at times like this, she found Podrick’s presence to be something of a curse.

_Why has he not taken me once in these weeks, with all of the chances that he has had?_ Brienne wondered, as she got up to fetch some water for Jaime. She was sure that he was thirsty, although he never asked for anything, much less water. She did not doubt his love, and felt his attraction every morning and night as the three of them shared the innkeeper’s bed in order to keep warm. He would lay against her, his cock against the curve of her ass. For the sake of Podrick, who laid on her other side, they would remain perfectly still, though it felt mad not to move against him, to turn to him and let him fondle her as he kissed her. It made her wet to imagine him bending her over as she used to see Renly’s men do to the whores in the camps, those nights when they had too much to drink and forgot about tents. Most nights, he would get out of bed as though to make water, but he would be gone too long for that to be the case.

“I want to despoil you of your maidenhood,” Jaime had told her while they passionately kissed inside of the stables, as the first snow fell on Maidenpool. “I want to take you, over and over again--”

“I am yours,” Brienne whispered to him, almost pleading, as his hand gripped her hip tight.

Jaime stared at her, his breath heavy with desire. She was sure at that moment that he would do it right there—the horses a witness to their deed. But, he did not. With a curl of his lip, he simply hung his head. Brienne did not understand it then, or the many other times which followed, when their clandestine kisses escalated but stopped short. _Why does he not bed me?_ she wondered. _Would he not have taken my maidenhead on that first day that we kissed? Is it Cersei?_

The clash of swords from the main hall of the inn jolted Brienne from her waking dream. She was surprised to find that she had already retrieved water from the well, three times over. _It is unmaidenly to let my mind wander into such thoughts so often._ Yet, she had given up on being a proper lady, long before.

Returning to the hall with a pitcher of the water, she watched Jaime using his invented one-handed fighting style against Podrick. _Poor Pod._ The lad always seemed torn between whether or not to mimic Jaime, or try to fight using what he had learned under Brienne’s tutelage. At first, Jaime’s moves seemed all wrong to her, going against what she had spent years learning about swordplay. Yet, as he worked to refine his action over the past few weeks, she saw that his famed sense of swordsmanship was still present in him. He was simply using his instinct to make up for not having a shield. Everything was backward, using the other arm, but not only that, it was harder. Still, somehow, he managed to prevail.

Podrick was struggling against Jaime’s relentless attack, but finally, he managed to land a blow. It struck Jaime fairly hard, even though it was with the flat of the sword, causing him to stagger backward and put up his arms.

“I yield, Pod, I yield!” he cried out with a smile, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

Podrick was in-between a smile and a frown. _Perhaps the boy is unsure whether or not to be proud of striking a cripple._

“Podrick, that was quite good! Managing to hit Ser Jaime Lannister is no mean feat,” Brienne said encouragingly from the sidelines, “I have beaten many men of the Rainbow Guard, and more vicious men beside; even weakened from imprisonment and hands tied, Ser Jaime slashed me.”

Podrick looked in wonder between Jaime and Brienne, before blushing.

“Why would Ser Jaime fight you, my lady?” Podrick asked. 

Jaime let out a great laugh, prompting Brienne to give chuckle, as well. 

“Because I was foolish, young Podrick. We were not yet...” Jaime paused as he searched for the word. “Friends. That had more to do with myself than it did with Lady Brienne.”

Jaime smiled with great warmth at Brienne, which she returned in full. 

“Pod, would you go tend to the horses and make sure that they’ve each gotten some exercise?” Jaime asked, still smiling at Brienne. She knew that her own smile could never be considered as beautiful as his was, but his smile made her _feel_ beautiful. “And when you are done caring for the horses, please make sure to fill the pot in the bathing house with water, so that we may get ourselves washed after nightfall.”

They only lit fires at night, and only in places where the light might not be seen. There were too many opportunists on the road, these days. They depended on Maidenpool staying a ghost town.

“Yes, Ser Jaime. Of course,” Podrick replied, dutifully running off to take care of his duties. 

When Podrick left the hall, Brienne felt Jaime’s stare intensify. He walked up to her, still bathed in his sweat, which seemed to chill him. It was cold enough to see their breath. “I have been thinking, Brienne, that it is time for us to move on. To proceed with the search for Sansa Stark.”

“You want to head to the Vale? To the Eyrie?” Brienne asked, her brows drawing into a frown. “Because of a dream?”

Jaime let out a great sigh and ran his hand through his cold, wet hair. 

“Wench, if I knew how to explain it, I would. There was the priest from the cave, Baelish... and a small bird trapped in a cage,” he said, seeming more embarrassed the more that he said. “Truly, I do not know where else to start, beside. But I did listen to a dream once before, and it is the reason that you are standing here before me.”

Brienne frowned still—however bad she felt for diminishing Jaime’s thought, she could not seem to help herself—she had heard stories of the Vale in a normal winter. This winter which had already blanketed the Riverlands in snow up to their calves was nothing compared to what would await them at the Eyrie. 

“You should change into drier clothing, Jaime,” she said, softening her look of displeasure. “You must be freezing.”

“You agree that it is time for us to move on, do you not?”

Brienne heaved a great sigh and took his hand. “Come with me, before you freeze to death.”

##

_I must look,_ Brienne thought as she held onto the small, rare hand mirror, which had been hidden at the bottom of one of the innkeeper’s wife’s chests. Jaime managed to convince her that in honor of their near departure, that it was time for Brienne to finally remove the bandages from her face. He had seen her wound at all of its stages. It was nothing new to him. She had never seen it, however. 

Brienne looked at the bandages from her face, which lay before her. It had been about a month since Biter had inflicted his terrible pointed teeth upon her cheek, tearing it almost past the point of repair. _It is time to come out from behind the wrappings and confront my new face. It’s simply another scar. I’m adding it to the collection. There’s the scar at my hip, the bear’s claw, the cut from Jaime when we fought on the bridge..._

Brienne took a deep breath for courage, and released it, her breath forming a fog before her. _One. Two. Three._ She lifted the silvered glass before herself, and forced her eyes to stay open to view the damage that had been done. At first, all that she could see was a blur of a strange person with yellow hair. Then, when her mind focused, she was able to accept that it was herself that she gazed upon. There was the nose that had been broken several times over during training. There were her horsey teeth. Her freckles. And with dismay, she saw the work of that monster, pink with new skin. The scarring was puckered and uneven, but she was lucky that her torn skin had managed to repair itself. She put the mirror down and hid it beneath the collection of too-small women’s garments within the chest. _At least, I am still alive. And, I am stronger for it. I am stronger for all of my scars._

Jaime reached out to her and placed his hand on hers.

“I would say something reassuring, Wench, but it would only come out as some sort of insult, you know.”

“Is this mark on my face... Is it why you will not... Why you have not...”

“What are you saying, Brienne?”

“I know that I am not a beauty, Jaime. I learned that very early in my life,” Brienne said, turning the scarred side of her face away from him.

Jaime moved his hand to her chin and redirected her to look at him.

“What idea has gotten into your head, you silly wench?” he asked softly, watching her face carefully. She felt trapped. _Must I say it?_

“Why have you not taken my maidenhead, Ser Jaime,” she asked, feeling her face get hotter with every word, “when you surely know my feelings?”

Jaime’s face became blank, absolutely still. She could see that he was thinking on what to say, and with every moment that passed, became more afraid of what his answer would be.

“I... Did not want to soil your name--”

“My father has surely heard by now the vile names that I have been called,” she said, suddenly finding herself angry, “do you not think that everyone believes me a whore, already?”

“I do not want to make it true.”

“Will it be true? Do the names that other people give us truly define us? Will I be a whore in your eyes if you bed me?”

Jaime’s gentle grasp on her chin turned strong. He was angry, hurt-looking, and Brienne was immediately sorry for having said what she did. She knew him well enough to know that that was not the reason for his hesitance.

“I am simply trying to be honorable. Is that not what you want from me? To be decent? To be your knight?” he asked, his voice trembling with anger.

“I WANT YOU! Not an idea of what you could be!” she yelled at him, standing up from her seat at the edge of the bed. Brienne bristled at his seemingly willful miscomprehension of her. Her fists were balled so tightly that she felt her fingernails cutting into her skin. After a few long seconds of this standoff, Brienne saw his face change. He seemed to see his err, and stood slowly to meet her.

“I am sorry, Brienne. I simply... I want you to be my wife. But what noble has ever chosen for himself? I am out of my depth.”

Feeling her anger drain out of her, she gathered his face in her hands and leaned down to kiss him, her lips tenderly embracing his. _I want you to be my wife._ The sound of his words replayed in her mind, so unexpected. She had never allowed herself to think for a moment at that possibility with him. But, when he spoke the words, it felt truly as though the only end that was ever meant for them. 

“I will marry you, whenever we find a willing Septon,” she said breathlessly, “you know that I will. But, I want you to take me as your wife, now,” she said breathlessly, pulling away. Jaime kissed her ruined cheek, his lips lingering. 

“Do you know what it is you want?” he whispered to her, his words hot against her skin. Brienne removed a hand from his head and shyly moved it down his body, nodding. She traced her hand along his body, from his taut hip down to his lower abdomen. His eyes glittered as he looked into hers; he breathed heavily. She felt nervous when her hand neared his cock. She could feel its heat through his pants. Jaime's good hand met hers, and his fingers intertwined with hers. He watched her for a moment and kissed her, a gentle but passionate kiss. It was equally received as it was given—Brienne thought that she could die at just that moment—she felt as though their hearts were linked. 

Opening their eyes simultaneously, they watched each other as they both breathed heavy, hands joined below. He moved her hand gently but firmly down his dick, guiding her hand over its head. He sighed a small moan of pleasure as he watched her. Her own face held some surprise, she was sure, but also excitement. He was hard, his dick stiff and large beneath her hand, pushing against his breeches, as though waiting to be let out. 

Without his guidance, she reached further down and cupped his full balls in her hand, barely knowing what she was doing. “Brienne,” he whispered fiercely, his stumped arm gripping her closer to him at her waist. “Gods, Brienne, I have never wanted anyone so much. I... Did not know that I could.” He kissed her gently on the lips, and then at her neck. She tried not to turn her mind to Cersei, but it went there anyway. Her gorgeous long hair, perfectly proportioned body, her breasts—generous enough to fill out those courtly dresses of brocade. His mouth on her scars delivered by the bear—the bear which he saved her from--brought her thoughts back to him.

Her heart beat wild against her ribs, her body tingling from her head to her toes with anticipation. _What will it feel like,_ she thought, _to have my skin against his, again?_ Back when they were in the bath together at Harrenhal, she held him. He was so delirious from pain, he could not have noticed her tense desire guiltily mixed in with her concern, as he lay collapsed in her arms. She remembered his then frail figure press against her chest. Could he feel her heart beating then? Did he at least know in some small way, in the back of his consciousness, even back then, that she was yearning for him? Could that have been why he went back for her in the bear pit? Or, did he go back with no assurance of her love? 

His golden hair shone in the daylight which fought its way through the shuttered window. His body was made more beautiful by the play between shadows and light, which outlined his muscles and perfectly sculpted shoulders. He was not the man he once was, she was sure. Perhaps he had more bulk once, and of course, he had his sword hand. But, she did not want the man he once was. That man did not care for her.

“My lady,” he said. Was it a question? Brienne did not know, but answered with a gentle kiss. _Am I really doing this?_ she asked herself. She had her own answer as she gingerly lifted both of her shirts above her head, revealing the wrapping that she used to keep her breasts bound to her chest. Jaime stepped closer yet, his eyes admiring her form. She blushed under his gaze. She began to untie her chest wrappings, and found him caressing her waist with his good hand, feeling her muscled abdomen, his hand squeezing at her solid hip. He leaned down and kissed her abdomen, below where her wrappings were almost undone, eliciting a small moan of pleasure from her mouth. Brienne fumbled to complete the unwrapping faster, casting the unwanted cloth aside. 

Her hands went to his head, running fingers through his hair as he gently kissed each shadow on her muscled form. His lips were so soft against her skin. She sighed with satisfaction as she felt his arms lightly but firmly holding her. When his head came up to behold her body again, he stared seriously at her breasts, nipples erect in the still slightly chilly air, his mouth slightly agape. For a half of a moment, Brienne felt nervous. _Why does he frown?_

“I have seen you in my dreams, my lady, ever since that day in the baths. I wanted you, before I even knew it,” he said, pausing to kiss one of her breasts, lightly suckling her nipple. Brienne felt herself get wet between her legs and gasped. He raised his head again and looked to her eyes, which beheld him with such admiration, that she did not know herself to be capable of it. “I could not forget you from the baths at Harrenhal, when you stood against me in such defiance. I was hard for you then, yet it surprised me. I still did not know or understand what I felt for you. But, I could not forget you.” 

He caressed her right breast and she leaned in to kiss him on the mouth. He moved his hand from her hip down to between her legs, rubbing her pants against her mound. Brienne felt a wild tremor run all of the way through her.

“I dreamt of you nude, but standing fierce and defiant, so many nights. You were my goddess in my dreams, and here you are before me, my goddess in reality.”

Brienne reached down to his pants, and began to unlace them. She was so wet that she could feel herself soaking her pants. Her hands trembled as she tore at his laces, begging them in her mind to be undone faster. He watched her, she saw, with a small look of... _triumph?_ She did not care. With a last pull, his pants slipped over his hips and down to his ankles, revealing his erect cock, its tip glistening and swollen. She looked up to him again and saw his eyes full of desire again before he grasped her close and kissed her, his tongue meeting hers with ferocity and yet restraint. He matched her own passion so exactly, that she knew it to be fate, her being thrown together with this man. _How many women,_ she wondered, _are fortunate enough to meet their lover like equals, for the first time of their joining?_

She reached down to her own pant laces to begin to untie them, but was stopped roughly by  
his left hand. “No,” he said, “let me, Brienne.” Losing all of her patience, she took his chin in hand  
and brought him up for another passionate kiss. 

“Jaime,” she said, almost growling his name through her teeth, her emotions tying themselves into knots at the tremendousness of her longing. She groaned as his tongue and hers met over and over again, rhythmically pressing against each other. Brienne reached down blindly toward his cock, although she did not know what to do once she found it. She gently wrapped her hand around it, like a sword’s hilt. She heard him groan in return. His hand undid her laces below, dexterously pulling the laces apart. Before they were even fully undone, his hand went into her pants and she felt his fingers feeling through her copious hair into pussy, wet and swollen. He moaned and pulled back from her mouth to meet her gaze. 

“Gods, Brienne,” he said, his eyebrows undecided on frowning or lifting in surprise. “May I?”

“Why ask, my lord,” she whispered, through her smile.

“Because, I...” And again, his face shifted. 

“What is it?” she asked, concerned. His fingers rubbed her mound slowly, sliding amongst her wetness with ease. She felt one finger slide into her body, and then out again, while he watched her reaction. She only hoped that her face spoke truly for what she felt. 

“Jaime,” she said, her body and soul yearning for all of him. 

“I love you, Brienne,” he said, frowning as he said it. His face was full of desire mixed with hope. “Tell me you love me,” he demanded.

“Jaime,” she gasped, as he pushed a second finger into her, rubbing her harder and faster, her body grinding against his hand. His right arm held her close, his eyes drinking in every change in her face. A third finger. “Tell me,” he begged her, pumping his fingers into her with desperation.

“Yes, Jaime,” she said, and he removed his hand, ripping her pants off. He kicked his boots off and his pants away, and laid the blanket out on the wood floor as she kicked at her own things. He laid himself down and held out a hand. This was not what she spied in the camps... It was always the woman bent over, a man pumping into her from behind, when she saw it. _What am I to do?_

“Brienne, take my hand,” he said, and she did. “Lower yourself onto me,” he instructed, “but take your time.” Her nipples were erect not from the cold now, but from how much that she wanted him, wanted this. She straddled him obediently, and used her free hand to guide his cock to her. She had only touched herself a few times before, inside her pussy, and each time it was with his body, wet from the bath, in her mind. She got the head of his cock inside, but as he said, she took her time, using her strong legs to slowly slower herself down, riding up and down a little as she did so. Feeling his thick cock rubbing against her inside was perfection. She caught his eyes again. He was waiting for something, hopeful. 

“Jaime?” she asked. 

“Tell me, woman, or else you will kill me,” he said. Riding up and down against the upper half of his cock, she felt her pleasure compounding. Was it wrong for her to wait so long, to keep him wondering at her words? He heard them from her lips before, but his need to hear them at that moment seemed paramount. She stared at him intently, knowing her power, and felt a strange elation at his helplessness under her. Reaching behind herself, she rubbed the curve of her buttocks on her way down to cupping his balls, and saw his eyes flutter closed in ecstasy. "Jaime," she said, as she rubbed his balls, which dripped wet from her cunt, and she slid herself the rest of the way down his shaft. It felt as though it pierced her, inside, and she stopped, grimacing. She looked at him, her eyes full of fear. He reached his left hand to her face, his other arm caressing her hip. 

“It will pass, my lady.” 

She nodded, biting her lip, and gently raised herself a bit higher. She tried lowering herself again, finding that it felt better this time. She felt a flowering of warmth, hot, inside of her pussy and growing up into her abdomen, spreading throughout. Closing her eyes, she brought her body up and down again, over and over. She could feel his dick pulsing with his blood inside of her, and swore that her own heart beat the same song. She took her hand from him and reached up to her small breasts and rubbed, squeezing at her nipples, one after the other. Jaime moaned, and she opened her eyes. He was transfixed with her. She leaned down to him, pausing in her rocking and kissed him deeply. 

“I love you,” he said, pleading. 

Her heart swelled with that moment, as she returned to riding his cock. It felt so good, she was half-ashamed to be so withholding. _Why can’t I say what I have already thought and spoken before?_

“Let me get on top of you,” he said, and she got off. “Lie down, and spread your legs apart, love.”

She did as she was told, and was ready for him to enter inside her. Instead, he kissed her hip, and the mound. 

“Wait. What are you doing?” 

“Trust me, Brienne,” he said. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded, and marveled at his emerald eyes, glittering like gems in the fire's glow. He kissed her pussy, and then slid a finger inside, leaning on his shortened arm. She felt his tongue enter her alongside his finger. Then, he pumped his finger, and rubbed her hard with the rest of his hand, while his tongue lapped up her juices. She heard him moan with pleasure as she swiveled her hips to meet his hungry kisses. He fucked her harder, with three fingers, then, as his tongue bathed her folds. She shuddered with happiness, and heard a moan escape her mouth. 

“Ser Jaime,” she said breathlessly, and swiveled her hips to meet his every tongue stroke. He stopped licking her and moved his mouth to her thigh while he continue to rock his fingers in and out of her, his hand slapping against her nether parts with a fierce wet rhythm. 

Oh, Gods, she thought, as he kissed her hip, fitting the other finger inside of her pussy, his thumb rubbing at her clitoris. He slid them in and out slowly. When she opened her eyes, she saw him watching her. She knew that it was she now, under his power. 

“What do you want, Wench?” he asked, his fingers in up to his knuckles. Brienne wondered what to say. 

“I--” 

“Tell me, Wench,” he said fiercely, and she reeled with delight at the sound of that name, which she had been so much annoyed by, before. 

“I want your cock inside of me,” she gasped in the quietest of whispers.

He took two of his fingers out and began to pump her harder, the rest of his fist punching into her pelvic muscles with wet slaps. Brienne writhed with joy at his work, feeling herself swollen and hot down below. 

“What did you say? I didn't hear you,” he sneered, a smile in his eyes. “I want your cock inside of me,” she said, or was it begged? “Please, Jaime. Please.”

“Very well,” he said, and shifted himself so that he balanced on his one hand near her side and guided her left leg with his shortened arm. He inserted himself inside of her, and she squeezed herself around his cock as hard as she could. She saw his face change with gratification. Jaime pumped into her harder and faster. She met each thrust of his hips with her own, wanting more and more of him.

“Jaime,” she said, her eyes brimming with adoration as she cupped his sweating face in her hand. He leant down and kissed her as he increased the rhythm. This went on for such a while that she lost herself in his body, the sensations taking over any conscious thoughts, making them nothing. 

“Get on top of me, please, my lady.” He did not have to say that he was tired, she knew it. And so she scrambled on top of him again, and found her way on top of his cock with more sureness. She interlaced the fingers of her right hand with his left and used their grip to prop herself up. As she rode him, first slow, and then faster, her hips swivelled in a steady circle. He moaned with pleasure, closing his eyes. 

“I love you, Jaime,” she said, finally hearing the words out loud from her own lips. “I love you. I have loved you. I always will. Please do not leave me, Ser. Or push me away. I could not bear it.” 

All the while he watched her, a tenderness in his eyes as he examined her face. She felt strangely beautiful under his gaze. Their hips met each other harder and more deliberately. 

“I will never leave you,” he said, looking into her eyes as he pounded her with his cock. “I will stay with you, always, my lady.” 

At that, she rocked faster, moaning with each pleasurable movement, lifting her hips higher so that she might be penetrated deeper. She heard a groan escape his lips, and then they were racing, but she did not know toward what. His cock began to throb inside of her then, pulsing at her in waves. She suddenly could not bear anymore pleasure, and felt her insides reel with the ecstasy of his love. She let out a cry as she felt his cum release inside of her, filling her and dripping out of her. Her entire body seemed to spasm—she never wanted it to end. With a final shudder, she sighed and met his eyes, gently withdrawing herself. She kneeled beside him, sitting on her haunches. He reached over and placed his hand on her arm. She found herself curled against his body, and held him to herself, not wanting to let go.

“I will never be parted from your side, Brienne,” he said into her hair. “If you will promise never to leave mine.”

She hugged him tighter. She knew that she would be lucky to enjoy his love for even another month. _How could a love like ours survive this war? He with so many enemies, and me having lost all of my allies?_ A tear came to her eyes at the thought of their doom. She willed it away, though. They would die together, swords drawn, if anything. She could not hope for much better than that, and yet that ending was better than she ever knew that she would have. She closed her eyes, and turned to kiss his chest. “Jaime,” she whispered. _Jaime._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is my favorite character, particularly of late. I mean, obviously I am a big Jaime Lannister fan, but I feel a connection with Brienne of Tarth. I realized, about halfway through writing this, that perhaps I feel that connection because I was attacked by a crazy person (in January) and have a large scar which runs from my collarbone up my neck. I have gotten a lot of odd looks for it, and have gotten a small taste of what it means to be different.
> 
> Brienne is such a great character, because she lacks the vanity and self-importance which so many female characters rely on as their strengths. I am inspired by her, and am glad that her wonderful, badass, fictional self continues to inspire others in the world!
> 
> Thanks again for reading my fic. See you around A03 and Tumblr!


End file.
